


A Different Kind of Prison

by Bi_Duckling



Category: A Heist With Markiplier, Markiplier (YouTube)
Genre: Adventure, Chaos, Criminals on the run, I just wanted to write them, M/M, Smut Eventually, Some depictions of death and murder, This is mostly just gonna be fun, idk where this is even going, probably, their ship name is 'PrisonWhip' don't fite me, will update tags as I go, with probably some angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-01-31 08:36:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21443341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bi_Duckling/pseuds/Bi_Duckling
Summary: All Yancy wants to do is have a drink before he's sent to prison for murder.Some guy with a whip and a motorcycle makes sure he takes the scenic route there.Join the duo as they escape the cops, battle on the seas, and have the adventure of a lifetime - all while falling in love.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Mark Fischbach, Markiplier/Markiplier, PrisonWhip, Yancy/Illinois
Comments: 39
Kudos: 46





	1. The Associate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PoemIsDead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoemIsDead/gifts).

> First and foremost - I am writing this shit on the fly. I'm trying to get back into writing, and these two have captured my hearts.   
The first chapter is a little all over the place, but I hope to smooth it out as the story progresses.
> 
> How does one even write in a new york accent?
> 
> I apologize for grammar/spelling mistakes. >.>
> 
> Hope you enjoy it~

Bombastic.

Loud, obnoxious, distracting, heated, and crowded to the point of claustrophobic. Those are the terms that describe both his mind  _ and _ the bar Yancy has found himself in. It allows him to sit up against the corner of the bar counter, tucked in the small space of shadows where the flashing lights of the club fail to illuminate, and where he can hide from the public while being in plain sight. His position allows the wanna-be New Yorker to have a clear view of the front entrance which, in turn, allows him to see all who exits and enters the place. 

For the most part, Yancy keeps his eyes glued to the counter’s surface; he only nods to the bartender as they drop off another couple fingers of whiskey. He’s knocked the first five back right away, so for this sixth one, Yancy decides to sip this one more casually. His fingers, marked with black lettering and no longer having any trace of blood, wrap around the glass filled with amber liquid and ice before raising it to his lips. 

His hands, unlike the rest of his appearance, have been scrubbed clean almost to the point of uncomfortable suspicion; ‘Almost’ being the key word there. The rest of his clothing, and parts of his skin, have a bit of dirt and bruising everywhere; wet mud soaked jeans and shoes from where he’d been running, and dirt stains against his jacket and chest from where he’d been climbing. His previously greased back hair was now a mess, strands of black falling in front of his face, and Yancy brushes it back with his fingers before readjusting the collar of his leather jacket to hide his face. 

Yancy goes still as a set of police lights flash by the entrance to the pup, and it’s not until they’re gone when he says ‘fuck it’ to sipping the whiskey and tosses it back till it’s gone in one gulp. He brings the glass back down with a loud clatter, but the sound against the wooden countertop is barely audible in the pub. He sighs as the alcohol burns his throat. 

There was no fixing the crime scene. He had left it a mess. Blood,  _ so much blood _ , was left everywhere. It had been like any other night, a screaming match with his parents. His mother had been in tears, but had still taken the side of his angry and abusive father. However, unlike their previous fights where it would eventually die down and end, this one had only escalated. Yancy had … snapped. One moment, his father had him up against the kitchen wall by his neck, fingers closing his airway, next his father was on the floor, holding both hands against his throat in a futile attempt to close the open wound. Yancy remembers the knife feeling particularly heavy in his hand. 

His mother wouldn’t stop screaming, crying out in agony, in terror… Yancy had felt like he was a passenger in his own body as he reached down towards his now-deceased father and grabbed his pistol. 

The screaming didn’t last that long after that. Yancy made sure it was quick.

The rest was even more of a blur. He had ditched the knife in a nearby river, tossed it as far as he could throw, and had scrubbed his hands clean using and outdoor faucet in an alley behind a business that had closed for the day. The pistol was tucked in the back of his waistband , his black leather jacket covering the rest, before he zig-zagged through alley streets and climbed over rockwall barriers to finally end up in an unknown part of the city where crimes were common, people didn’t care, and the drinks came freely. 

Another set of flashing lights pass the pub, bringing Yancy back to reality, and he mentally feels out that, yes, the gun is still there, but he doesn’t dare move for it. Not unless it’s necessary. 

His adrenalin high from the murder is now fueling his fear. He’s not quite sure if the whiskey is helping, but right now it’s the only thing he’s got. Yancy waves down the bartender for another round, and he picks up the filled glass once it’s in front of him and brings it to his lips. 

An elbow bumps against his own and causes the glass to spill most of its contents all onto the counter. The newcomer, dressed head to toe in what Yancy can only call it an Indiana Jones costume, has squeezed in between Yancy and another customer in an attempt to get the bartender’s attention. The stranger hadn’t even noticed the disturbance. 

“Heys, watch its!” Yancy yells, temporarily forgetting that drawing attention to himself was the  _ last _ thing he wants to do, “Youse made me spill my drink!”

The stranger doesn’t even seem bothered by the fact when he looks back at Yancy. The smooth smile on his face never fades as he looks down once at the soiled counter, then to the empty glass, before finishing again at Yancy’s increasingly pissed off looking face. “Oh my,” says the man, “That is indeed inconvenient. Tell ya what, why don’t I get you another one? Fair is fair, etcetera.” Before Yancy can protest, the man turns to the bartender and tips his hat before gesturing for another round. “Two of whatever this lovely man was having, if you please.”

Yancy scoffs at, well, everything. “Youse don’t seriously thinks that a replacement drink wills fix all of this mess, do yas-”

“The name’s Illinois, and yes, I’m single,” the man, Illinois apparently, interrupts him. He turns back to Yancy with a wink and a smile.

“I- wha- who the heck cares if youse single?” The mess in front of Yancy is cleared away, and two drinks are sat down in its place, both whiskey on the rocks. 

“Everybody does, obviously,” Illinois replies as he reaches for his own glass, and he smirks over the rim of the glass while not breaking eye contact.

Yancy feels his trigger fingers twitch. 

“Youse thinks youses pretty special, don’t yas?”

“Well, it seems to be working for me so far,” the man replies with a too-smug attitude. 

Before Yancy can retort, another set of flashing lights appear at the front of the pub. This time, to Yancy’s dismay, they don’t pass by. “Oh noes..”

Illinois frowns at the comment and turns his head to see what his companion had been staring at. It isn’t hard to miss, and his shoulders drop a little while he sighs. “Ah. That’s a shame. They’re probably here for me.”

It takes a second for Yancy to process what he just heard.

“ _ Youse?  _ What did  _ youse _ do?!” 

“Robbed a museum,” Illinois says casually. He turns his head back around to face him. “My apologies, what were you saying? Ah, it doesn’t matter. Given the current circumstances, we have more important matters to discuss. Would you like to be my associate?”

“Youse what?”

“My associate,” Illinois repeats with a smile, “I usually do things on my own, but in this case I could use the help. I’m currently on a dangerous job that has a very high chance of certain death, and I would like you to come with me.” 

Yancy only blinks owlishly at him.

“Besides,” he continues, “I’ve already told you that I robbed a museum. If they catch me, I’ll be sure to tell them that you were my accomplice in the crime, and downtown to prison you’ll go!” Illinois explains with a smile like he’s just revealed the greatest plan in the world. 

Yancy shoves his stool back, standing up and grabbing Illinois, who is still  _ fucking smiling _ through all of this, by his shirt collar,  _ “Youse sleazy little asshole-”  _

Before Yancy can throw the first punch, the front door of the pub bursts open revealing a multitude of cops in uniform. The beams of flashlights wave everywhere. The music dies, and people are both shouting and yelling. 

Both men stare at the door before looking back at each other. Yancy still wants to punch this guy in the face. Illinois smiles in return and holds out his hand. “So, what do ya say,  _ Partner _ ? Up for a little adventure?”

The crowd parts a path from the entrance to the bar. The men in uniform line the path as the Warden, a bald man with a suit and tie, walks up to the bar. He stops in front of two empty bar stools hidden in the shadows, and he places his hands on his hips in frustration. Two nearly full glasses of whiskey rest on paper napkins and a small pile of dollar bills lay on the countertop, and the entire scene mocks his futile attempt at capture. 

Three miles away are two men on a motorbike flying down the highway; they’re putting more distance between them and the bar as the seconds pass. The man in the leather jacket riding passenger, and the only one wearing some poor excuse of a helmet, is none other than Yancy. He screams that this is the stupidest shit he’s ever heard of someone doing. He clings to the driver, Illinois, who thinks their narrow escape is the funniest thing in the world as their motorcycle roars into the night.


	2. The Beach

Yancy’s voice was still sore from screaming. 

Illinois, he concludes as they stop at a gas station, is a madman with a motorbike. Some cops were able to still catch up with them. So, like the reasonable adventurer guy Illinois was, he led them like a car chase out of a movie. 

Everything was a bit of a blur from going so fast, but Yancy was pretty sure at one point they went down pedestrian-only alleyways, both up and down two flights of stairs, through the subway lines (Yancy can still see the train lights clear as day in his mind’s eye), and over two steep hills that no vehicle had the right to climb before they finally lost them. Illinois had patted Yancy’s face lightly once they stopped in an attempt to calm him down - apparently he had still been screaming in terror. 

Being unable to stand once they reached the gas station, Yancy sat and waited on the bike as he watched Illinois waltz into the connected grocery section and coddle up to the cashier. He told Yancy that he was confident that he’ll be able to get them gas and food for free. If he had been told that this would be his life two hours ago, Yancy would’ve laughed in their face. 

Instead, here he was, sitting on a bike, not going to prison, and watching the owner of the two-wheeled vehicle come out of the store with a bag of food and a receipt for pre-paid gas. 

He hands Yancy the bag of items with a smile, and Yancy fumbles through it to see its contents; there are two bags of jerky, water, a pack of cigs, and a lighter inside it. Illinois says that the cigs are for Yancy. They’re not his brand, but after the night he’s had, Yancy’s not complaining.

“I shouldn’t be heres,” Yancy mumbles as he watches Illinois put the nozzle into the tank.

Illinois smiles. “Where do you think you should be?”

“In prison,” Yancy replies simply. 

“Hmm. That doesn’t sound very adventurous.” 

“It’s not supposed to be.” Yancy glances up from the bag to watch the man fill up the bike. 

Illinois doesn’t even question why Yancy thinks he’s the one who should be in prison, and he’s grateful. 

The handle of the gas feeder klinks shut, indicating that the tank is now full, and Illinois removes the nozzle from the bike before hanging it back up on the station.

“You know what does sound adventurous?” asks Illinois. Before Yancy can answer, the adventurer manhandles Yancy by the hips and pushes him forward into the driver’s seat. He saddles up behind him, pressing flush against Yancy’s back, and takes the handle. The position is a little awkward, but it allows Illinois to still drive. Yancy immediately protests, placing one hand between the handlebars while the other grips Illinois’s thigh as the bike revs to life. “The open seas!” Illinois yells over the noise of the engine and next to Yancy’s ear. 

They take off before Yancy can scream at him again, the bike peels out of the lot and down the road. They’ve been following the sea line for a while now, even before the gas station. A half hour later, they’re far away from the city lights and they pull up to an empty beach. Yancy has stopped screaming, his throat had started hurting and his voice was shot, but the grip on both the bike and Illinois’s thigh never lessens until they’ve come to a stop and the bike has been turned off. A crescent moon is low on the horizon, preceding what seems to be a promising beautiful sunrise. 

“‘The Open Seas’,” Yancy repeats Illinois’s words from earlier. “What are youse even talking about?” Yancy demands once they’re off the bike. He reluctantly follows the adventurer as he walks to the beach even though every other warning bell in his head is telling him to run the other way. Illinois looks back over his shoulder at the man with a questioning look before he seems to recall the earlier conversation.

“Ah yes, the original call of exploration, the open ocean.” Yancy watches as the man gestures with wide, open arms at the massive body of water before them. “And the original yet convenient way to travel.” Illinois takes a deep breath of sea air before letting it go. He then sits down on the sand, and Yancy watches him momentarily before joining him and pulling out the cigarette carton. “My current job is overseas,” Illinois explains, “And our current status as criminals-at-large no longer allows us to fly. Unless you have some type of superpower that allows you to walk on water, we’re gonna have to travel the old fashioned way.”

“By boat?” Yancy mumbles as he flicks the lighter to life. Using one hand to shield from the wind, he inhales and draws the flame to the cigarette stick until it’s lit. 

“By boat,” Illinois confirms. After a moment, Illinois removes his hat and lays back on the sand.

Yancy blows a long line of smoke into the air and watches it dissipate. “And I suppose youse knows how to get one of dem boatses.”

Illinois hums, “That I do.” Yancy scoffs before taking another drag.

The breeze is peaceful as it rolls the waves gently onto shore. The sky is still pitch dark, but it threatens to start the beginning of a sunrise. Yancy looks up and notices that he can see a giant expanse of stars as far as the eye can see. He thought that he’d never see them again; to be thrown in prison before the next sunrise.

Has it only been hours since he escaped? The man beside him has somehow made his murders seem like an event from 10 years ago, rather than a handful of minutes. Now they’re discussing the concept of sailing the Atlantic. What had Yancy’s life become?

“Hows youse gonna do that?” Yancy asks after another drag from the cig. 

“I met quite a captain about two years ago. He’s a big, strange fella. Quick with a gun, but has a big heart,” Illinois explains, “He owes me a couple favors. I’ve already been in contact with him, and we’re supposed to meet up in a couple of days for our arrangement. I was in-and-out faster than I expected, so we’ll just lie low for a couple days until it’s time.”

Yancy looks down at Illinois with an incredulous stare. “What are we’s suppose to do for two days? Those coppers are searching for us all over the place.” 

Illinois actually waggles his eyebrows after he smirks, and Yancy throws a handful of sand at him. 

“I’s serious!” Yancy shouts as the other man bursts into a fit of laughter. “How is youse even this calm! We shoulds be hiding, not out in the open!”

“That’s what they’re expecting from us,” Illinois shrugs and closes his eyes with a smile, “Panicked and doing everything we can to hide. Just stay calm and go through it naturally, and they won’t even see us. The perfect camouflage.” 

“Says the guy whos dressed in an Indy Costume,” Yancy mumbles with a huff. 

“Hey, this ain’t no costume. I know how to use this whip.” 

Yancy refuses to dignify that with a response. 

Illinois goes on to tell him that he knows about a small town with a currently vacant bed and breakfast. The town is quiet, and he knows enough people there were they can stay in peace without anyone noticing. Yancy says that the plan sounds ridiculous, and that Illinois is a terrible thief, but doesn’t say anything more as the man continues to chuckle. 

Yancy extinguishes the now spent cigarette into the sand before standing up to brush the sand off his pants. “Then we’s should get goins.”

“In just a moment.” Yancy is about to protest when Illinois follows up with, “When’s the last time you sat and watched the sun rise?”

With his mother, at a park near his childhood home. He had been five years old.

Yancy shakes his head from the instant memory, and instead glares out at the ocean.   
After another moment, he falls back onto the sand with a huff, and Illinois laughs and sits up to join him. The sky is starting to turn pink and orange among the light fog and morning clouds, and the sun starts to paint a beautiful canvas of colors. 

“Can you pass me the jerky?” Illinois asks with a smile. Yancy stares back at him with a calculating look.

The bag contacts the adventurer’s face at high speed. The man laughs loudly while Yancy curses him and lights another cig.


	3. The Bed & Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have some brief downtime before they cross the Atlantic.   
The perfect time for Yancy's thoughts and the reality of his situation to catch up with him a little.  
Illinois has no concept of personal boundaries.

It’s early on a cool, crisp morning when Yancy first stirs from his slumber. He feels a morning ray of sunshine laying gently across his face, so he keeps his eyes closed for a few moments. The ocean rolling up onto the beach can be heard through a cracked window in the room, and the soothing sound causes Yancy to smile and sigh. He grunts and stretches in bed before settling his arms back over the warm body on top of him and burying his face into the top of soft black hair to get more sleep-

Yancy’s eyes fly open, and he sees Illinois  _ instantly _ . The man has an arm over Yancy’s chest, a leg over his waist and hips, and his brown sleepy eyes flutter open from sensing Yancy’s suddenly tense posture. The trapped man watches as Illinois yawns and licks his lips clean of the slight drool that developed while he slept on top of him. 

They stare at each other for what seemed like minutes, Illinois’s eyes full of sleepy contempt while Yancy’s twitches every few seconds. 

It was the casual kiss to Yancy’s nose that causes the vein in his forehead to become visible. 

“ _ GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!” _ and a loud  _ thump _ wakes the remaining guests and staff in the small coastal Bed & Breakfast. 

Yancy is very much awake now, back to the headboard, as he huffs and glares down at his companion that’s now sitting on the floor. Illinois, having taken most of the blankets down with him, sits cross legged while rubbing the back of his head that was sore from the fall. 

“Well, that was rude,” Illinois states simply.

“YOUR FACE IS RUDE!” Yancy retorts, throwing a plush pillow at the other’s head. The man catches it effortlessly. “What were you doing in my bed?!”

Illinois looks up at him over the pillow with a questioning stare. “...Because there’s only one bed? We went over this last night. Don’t you remember?”

Yancy pauses at that and looks around the room in confusion. It’s a small but cozy place; two matching lamps with night stands frame the head of the, yep, there’s only one, quilted queen four post bed. A small matching vanity, dresser, and padded armchair complete the set. There is a small, simple bathroom attached, decorated sparsely with ocean themed decorations, towels, and shower curtains. He squints at the surrounding furniture as he recalls the events from yesterday. 

They had watched the sunrise on the beach, but then promptly fell asleep on the sand afterwards. Resting until early afternoon had caused them to leave later than they had anticipated. Quickly collecting and properly disposing their trash and cigarette butts, both men got back on the bike (Yancy making sure to make Illinois sit in the driver’s seat this time) and raced down the coastal highway to the B&B. 

By the time they reached it, however, night had fallen again. Exhaustion hitting hard, Yancy only had only enough energy to toss his coat and gun into the chair, and socks and shoes underneath before face-planting right into the pillow-top mattress. 

He recalled hearing a warm chuckle from Illinois before the covers underneath him were pulled away. The man then crawled onto the other side of the bed and caused the bed to dip.

“Find youse own bed,” Yancy’s muffled voice came through the pillow. 

Another warm chuckle. “There’s only one bed, I’m afraid.”

“Why’d ya gets a room with only one bed?”

“Originally, it  _ was _ just supposed to be me on this journey,” Illinois replies.

“And who’s fuckin’ fault is dat?” The man doesn’t respond, but Yancy can practically hear the fucker’s cocky smile. 

Illinois turns out the lights, pulls the covers over, and bids him a good night. Yancy replies with a snore. 

Now that he was more awake, Yancy curses under his breath. The man on the floor yawns loudly and stretches his arms over his head before standing. Illinois isn’t wearing anything but a pair of white boxer briefs, and Yancy pointedly looks away, lightly blushing, to avoid being eye level with the man’s crotch. “Don’t you have any sense of decency?”

“Not in the slightest,” Illinois says with a wink, a smile, and a fart before walking away. 

Yancy makes a face and plugs his nose with one hand, waving away the tainted air with the other. “You  _ insufferable _ bastard.”

“The best kind, really.”

Yancy lowers his hands back onto the bedspread and watches Illinois hum a tune to himself as he pulls on his brown slacks. The button up shirt is next, fastening the front before tucking the tail of it under the hem of the pants, and the zipper and button of the fly are secured. To Yancy, without the obnoxious whip, satchel, extra belt, and hat, Illinois almost appears normal. 

It’s oddly refreshing, Yancy realizes suddenly, and he’s not quite sure where that thought came from or how he feels about that. 

There’s a brief knock on the door, breaking his train of thought, and a soft voice asking the two men if they were alright. Illinois confirms that they are, explaining that his partner had a nightmare, and Yancy silently flips the man off as the voice accepts the explanation. They let them know that breakfast is ready, and Yancy speaks up to say that they’ll be down shortly. 

“Stop calling me your ‘partner’,” Yancy tells Illinois once the staff member leaves them be.

Illinois looks back over his shoulder at him. “Hm? But we’re partners in crime.”

“They’ll think we’re partners in love.”

“Would both be so bad?” Illinois replies, wiggling his eyebrows in the process. 

Yancy huffs and looks out the bedroom window. His fingers twitch for a cigarette. “Have you always been such an obnoxious flirt?” Yancy hears Illinois laugh at that, but his head whips around to face him as he feels the bed dip close to him. The accusing eyes sent at Illinois doesn’t even phase the adventurer. 

Instead, he gets even closer, upper torso half turned toward Yancy, shoulder to shoulder, and Yancy brings his knees up to his chest as protection but doesn’t scoot away. 

“I’m not sure,” Illinois replies, “Do you always lose your accent in the mornings?”

It takes Yancy about two seconds to reflect on his entire dialect that morning. 

One of his hands immediately shoot up to cover his own mouth, and he glares daggers at Illinois. The other’s warm eyes and smile tells Yancy that he’s nothing but amused.

“ _ Youse _ ,” Yancy yells at him through his hand, putting extra effort to make sure the practiced accent is heard, before letting the hand drop back to the comforter below, “Shaddup, you half-rate Indiana Jones wannabes!”

“Why don’t you make me, you ‘wannabes’ New York gangster?” Illinois’s smile widens as Yancy grabs his shirt collar and bares his teeth with a growl. 

A different growl immediately is heard, the sound coming from both of their stomachs, and Illinois raises an eyebrow as Yancy’s own eyes become hooded with exhausted disbelief. 

“Hmm,” Illinois starts, “I suppose the jerky from yesterday has worn off. Shall we indulge in breakfast?” 

Yancy jerks away and gets out of bed with a huff. “I need a smoke,” Yancy replies simply, and he heads to his own discarded clothing. Slipping on his shoes and tucking his gun away under his jacket, he opens the bedroom door and walks out. Yancy hears ‘I’ll meet you downstairs,  _ partner~’  _ and slams the door hard behind him in retaliation. 

Their room indeed is on the second floor, so he descends the older wooden staircase. Each step creaks lightly under his weight and affirming its age with the sounds. Although focused on getting outside, Yancy does notice that the small B&B is decorated with artistic wallpaper and wooden trim. It suits the place nicely, giving it a warm and cozy feel, and it’s a complete 180 from his parent’s home. That place had splintered floors and peeling paint, and any wall paper that hadn’t fallen off was stained with who knows what. Where this quiet home was dust free, neat, and tighty, the previous place had dirt, grime, and blood. 

Yancy reached the front door and yanked it open before stepping outside. He walks, and keeps walking, till he reaches the edge of the property before finally coming to a stop. Fiddling with his jacket pocket, he reaches for the pack and pulls out a cig. Letting it dangle between his lips, he cups the tip with one hand, the other he flicks the lighter once, twice, before it catches flame and he inhales a deep breath. The first pull of nicotine calms his nerves instantly and Yancy lets out both a puff and sigh of relief before tucking his lighter and pack away. 

The crisp morning air is cool against his skin, and Yancy closes his eyes for a brief moment as he enjoys it. There’s a light fog in the air, not enough to hide the blue sky above, and a couple white clouds drift by on the ocean breeze. 

The front yard has two large oak trees and a cobblestone path leading around the side of the house. It’s a path to the B&B’s private beach, and Yancy finds himself taking it. The path around the side of the house is covered by a canopy of trees, and they soon open up to white sand and calm churning waves. He walks the shore a brief bit until finding a washed up log and decides to take a seat on it. It’s damp from the morning mist, but it doesn’t bother Yancy enough to move away. The soft rolling sound of the waves put him more at ease, and he reaches up to tuck a couple strands of hair behind his ear as the wind ruffles it gently. The gel had lost its hold after the events of… well, everything, and he was too heated up this morning to do anything about it. He actually doesn’t have any with him, now that Yancy thinks about it, instead everything that Yancy now owns is currently on his person. He hadn’t thought about it before, expecting instead to get arrested the other day where he couldn’t have had those things, so he decides that he’ll convince Illinois to get him more. 

He pauses his thoughts to watch the turning current sway before him. The edges of the water move and tumble small seashells before pulling back out to sea to allow the next wave roll over onto the sand. 

Illinois. The Adventurer and Thief. The ever constant flirt, and a solid pain in Yancy’s ass. A part of Yancy was all ready to be arrested by the cops. He had done what he wanted to do.

… What he had  _ always _ wanted to do, he supposes. 

Initially, Yancy thought he had just snapped out of nowhere. Now that he’s away from that place, that he’s finally allowed to sit and think in the quiet, his reasoning was more along the lines of ‘the straw that broke the camel’s back’. Yancy had simply had enough.

So, he had killed them, and that was that. Yancy wasn’t quite ready to be captured, not yet. He had only wanted one more night of drinking before the inevitable, but it seemed that the universe had other plans. 

Illinois’s laugh echoes through his memories, and Yancy curses under his breath as he snubs out the cigarette butt against the log. He watches the smoke trail cease and disappear as the lit end is extinguishes. 

Illinois had come out of nowhere, into his life as fast as whip crack, and had flipped everything sideways with a tip of his stupid hat. Practically kidnapping and forcing Yancy to live a life on the run all for an adventure that, to the best of his knowledge, probably doesn’t even exist.  _ They were planning on crossing the Atlantic, for fuck’s sake. _

Yancy looks back out to sea while chewing on his thumbnail. 

The whole situation has given him anxiety. He doesn’t know if he should give into the cops or not if they do catch up with them. If he does, Illinois will probably drag him back out if his behavior towards Yancy was any indication. All because Illinois needs an ‘Associate’ or ‘Partner’. 

“...What does that even  _ mean? _ ” Yancy mutters to himself.

“It means that I brought you food and coffee?”

Yancy whips around, hand to his chest, and curses out loud. He hadn’t even heard Illinois approach, and here he was, in Yancy’s life yet again, scaring the crap out of him with coffee and donuts.

“What did you think ‘I brought you breakfast’ means?” Illinois asks with an amused smile. 

“ _ WARN A GUY, WOULD YAS!?”  _ Yancy shouts back in his face before turning back around to face the sea with a huff. 

“My apologies,” Illinois responds, ya know, like  _ a liar, _ before sitting down next to Yancy. He even leaves a small gap between them this time, to Yancy’s surprise, and offers him a lidded paper cup. “Coffee with some sugar and milk. Hope you don’t mind. Wasn’t sure how you liked it.”

Yancy side-eyes the cup before reluctantly taking it. The taste isn’t terrible, and he’s had worse, so he mumbles ‘it’s fine’ before accepting the small to-go bag of food. In addition to the donut, there’s also a croissant and an apple. “It’s easy food to eat while at the beach,” Illinois explains simply and sips on his own coffee. A brief silence surrounds them, and he hears Illinois sigh happily as they both watch the waves. “It’s nice out this morning,” the man speaks, and Yancy hums in agreement. 

His coffee is gone, along with his croissant and half of the donut before he hears the adventurer speak again. 

“Haven’t scared you off yet, have I?” 

Yancy looks at him from the corner of his eye for a brief moment before looking back out at sea. He swallows his last bite of pastry before answering. “I’m still debating that.” He feels Illinois’s eyes on him as he speaks. “Besides, it’s not like I gots anywheres else to goes.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Illinois replies, “You seem like a pretty strong guy. Got two working legs, strong hands, … a gun.” Yancy huffs at that, but the corner of his lips twitch in a smile at the compliment. “You seem like you could go to a lot of places if you put your mind to it.” 

“I could goes to jail.”

“You could go with me.”

Yancy looks over and raises an eyebrow. “You want to go to prison with me?”

Illinois rolls his eyes at that. “To Europe, love.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Illinois hums and looks back out to sea with a soft smile. Yancy reaches for his apple and bites into it with a soft pop and chews on the piece. 

“Youse really gonna cross that, huh?”

“ _ We _ are, yes.”

“In nothin’ buts a boat?”

“That’s the plan.”

Yancy takes another bite and sighs. “I’s don’t know whats to do.” He feels more than sees Illinois turn back towards him.

“Come with me.” 

Yancy looks up to meet Illinois’s eyes with his own. The man’s face is close, again, and he’s leaning forward while bracing himself on the log. His empty coffee cup is tucked into the sand like an impromptu cup holder, and he can feel the man’s breath brush against his cheek. 

“Did youse spill my drink on purpose?” Yancy asks, and Illinois blinks at him in confusion. “Back at the bar. Did you plan all of that?”

Illinois shifts back a little at that, but only minutely. “No. I normally improvise in those kind of situations.” The man tilts his head a little as his eyes scan Yancy’s face. “Are you still upset about that?”

Yancy thinks about it for a short moment. “No. I’s more curious about how we’res even in dis mess. How’s it that we’ve escaped those coppers  _ twice _ ? How’s it that we’res not dead from that chase, and how’s it that we’res sitting here on these beaches sipping coffee likes we’s hadn’t just committed murder?”

Illinois blinks at him for a moment before replying. “Yancy, I robbed a museum. I didn’t commit a murder.”

Yancy becomes extremely still. 

Ah.

Fuck.

_ Fuck. _ Fuck fuck fuck-

He tosses the apple core into his empty coffee cup, along with the cigarette butt, and operates on a fast autopilot as he gathers his things. 

Fuck, he had not meant to let that slip, especially to Illinois. Yancy had wanted to work under the premise that they were only after Illinois for the robbery, that he was just held against his will via blackmail, and-

Illinois places his hand over Yancy’s scrambling ones, and it takes a long moment for Yancy to calm down enough to focus back on the present. “Easy, Yancy, I already knew.”

Yancy closes his eyes at that and lets out a shuddering breath. “.. Hows?”

“You do what I do long enough, you’ll meet enough killers to know that ‘look’ in their eyes. Panicked killers or content ones, they all kinda have that… stare. You eventually just pick up on it.”

“Why didn’t youse say nothins?”

Illinois shrugs. “Wasn’t any of my business.” A moment passes, and Illinois repositions himself to where he’s straddling the log to face Yancy completely. Yancy refuses to look him in the eye. After another moment, Illinois places his hat on Yancy’s head when he sees tears forming in the man’s eyes. Yancy lets the man do what he wants, and Illinois tilts the rim down to cover the man’s face so he can cry in private. 

He starts to stand to give him space, but Yancy pulls him back down onto the log and keeps him there. Illinois smiles and keeps his hand squeezed in Yancy’s own as the sound of the ocean drowns out the sobbing from the man. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
